


Nighthawks

by Jaune_Chat



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Sexual Content, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2011-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:57:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone on Emily Prentiss' BAU team was a little unusual; herself being a vampire and Morgan being a werewolf were only part of it. David Rossi being her chosen blood donor was another large part of it. But despite years of keeping things on the level of friendship, a long-term case brings a few important things to light, not the least of which is that life can be too short for those who aren't prepared to pay dearly for it. And for some the price is too high.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [murf1307](http://murf1307.livejournal.com) for betaing.
> 
> [Awesome Art by](http://themulberrybush.livejournal.com/4847.html) [weaselette](http://weaselette.livejournal.com)!

Emily cinched down the last straps of her hood and goggles, adjusting them slightly for comfort before sliding them into their own sleeves. Every daywalker suit was close-fitted, not quite skintight, but with nothing flapping to catch and tear the tough, opaque, flame-retardant fabric. Like most vampires, Emily supplemented her featureless hood with a brimmed hat, and had a long overcoat tightly buttoned over her body for a vague semblance of normalcy. It was impossible to hide the fact that one was wearing a daywalker suit, so most didn’t bother to try very hard. And that was the current bone of contention at this police station. They wanted her to try. The officers stared at her as if they’d never seen a vampire before, and refused to meet her eyes. They sidled around her when she sat down, and never spoke to her alone. The rest of the team ignored their behavior. Shaming their fellow law enforcement brothers had been an effective tool in the past.

It did irritate Emily that the Atlanta PD was apparently afraid of her, but didn’t even flinch at Morgan. Even though it was the week of a full moon. Even with him drinking cup after cup of the distinctively earthy-smelling wolfsbane tea. Either they were being deliberately obtuse, or were more comfortable with werewolves, even considering the nature of this case. She sighed; she’d been irritated before at the double standard, and undoubtedly would be again. Lycanthropes were poor victims; vampires were rich cowards.

“Ready,” Emily said quietly, tugging her hat down as she strode from the room with the rest of her team. Outside the conference room, with its heavy sunshades placed for Emily’s benefit, blazing Georgia sunshine filled the station. She could feel its heat distantly through her suit, but it didn’t truly touch her. Her black suit should have left her a sweaty, sodden mess by normal rights, but vampires could comfortably exist in a wide range of temperatures. If she had been able to walk openly, not a drop of sweat would have marred her skin.

People resented that; vampiric “perfection.” It didn’t matter how often it was explained that the virus resented any change to its host body and kept it as it had been when it was introduced. “We’re not perfect, we’re static,” was the refrain too often ignored so resentment could be nurtured.

The stares from the half-hostile officers were almost as painful as sunshine would be to her uncovered flesh. That thought brought an unseen savage smile to her face. There had been a case almost three months ago where the precinct had been woefully, almost deliberately ignorant of vampires. So much so that when Hotchner had called the officers in to deliver a profile, one of them had flung open a door to the sun-dark room without first making sure the shades had been shut behind him. Emily had gotten a face full of sunlight and had been forced to dive for cover underneath a desk before she started to char.

The resulting vicious lecture from every member of the team had salved her pain even faster than her body could fix itself. 

Hotchner gathered the team together in front of the evidence board, standing preternaturally still until the officers silenced themselves. As soon as he had their undivided attention, he began the profile.

“The brutality of the attacks and the length of time the victims are held before being found tells us this unsub is not just sadistic, but controlling. This is about power—he feels as if he has not been successful and these attacks are his way of compensating.”

“Is it a werewolf?” someone asked.

Morgan took it upon himself to answer. “It’s possible, but there are other scenarios.”

“Like what?”

“There are people who are capable of doing terrible things without being anything other than human. Certain people are capable of anything.”

“But the bodies--,” one officer protested. Prentiss could understand their skepticism. Young women from the area had been disappearing for up to a week at a time, only to turn up in the woods, their bodies savaged. The signature was similar to werewolf crimes; that was why Hotchner’s unit had become involved in the first place.

“The evidence is difficult to separate due to the condition of the bodies, but it’s possible the unsub could have dogs,” Morgan continued calmly.

The officers grumbled, irritated at such a mundane explanation. A supernatural cause would have made them feel better, less guilty, since _of course_ there was no way they could have stopped it. Prentiss could understand their reasoning, even if she couldn’t agree with it. 

“It’s also possible the unsub is a werewolf wanna-be. He could be cultivating a werewolf persona, even to the point of having false fangs and claws to live out an irrational fantasy.” 

Some of the officers were nodding slightly, getting past that stage of fear that tended to blind them.

“But it _could_ be a real werewolf?” someone persisted.

“That’s one scenario we’re looking at, yes. Look, I know you requested our team for a reason, but it’s important to keep our minds open. We could waste time trying to chase a werewolf when the real perpetrator could be someone very different. We’re just trying to make sure Brittany comes home safely.”

“Now, we’re looking for a white male in his late thirties, recently let go from a low-responsibility job…” Rossi and Reid took over the specifics of the profile as Morgan fell back slightly. 

Prentiss moved close enough to whisper to him. “We _are_ dealing with a werewolf though, aren’t we?”

“No doubt in my mind. I smelled him at the abduction site.”

“Nice impromptu speech.”

“Thanks.”

Prentiss grinned behind the anonymity of her mask as Morgan kept a straight face. The fact was that the profile didn’t change that much if the unsub were a real werewolf, a wanna-be, or a guy with ill-tempered dogs, not in terms of where he would be living. And neighbors would be more willing to talk if the canvassing officers didn’t try to imply there had been a werewolf living under their noses. People were more willing to accept they had been fooled in a small way; but imply that they’d missed a local werewolf and people might stop talking.

As Hotchner moved into the next part of the profile, Rossi flicked his eyes over to Prentiss, meeting her gaze despite the barrier of the goggles. He raised one eyebrow slightly, a faint smile on his face. He knew what they were talking about; they’d done this before. Every time they helped inadvertently teach local officers on what was possible, it gave the police force as a whole that many more discerning eyes and ears. 

The only real difference between an imposter and the real thing would be how the team went in to get the unsub when they found him. That was when the Atlanta PD wouldn’t care what Prentiss or Morgan was, just that they could stop a real monster in his tracks before he hurt anyone else.

\-----

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/jaune_chat/pic/0000zqw5/)

Dedicated canvassing of the last known abduction site hadn’t yielded anyone local to that neighborhood. But Garcia had found a point of similarity between that neighborhood and the others, a common landscaping service. That gave the unsub the van he needed for his abductions. Running the employee records and crunching the rest of the profile through the computers had given them a single name: Edward Renard.

They had a tactical team in place an hour afterwards, surrounding Renard’s home as the sun went down.

“Hotch!”

The team came to an abrupt halt outside the house as Morgan hissed a warning over their radios. 

“Werewolf.”

As one, the BAU agents ejected their magazines or bullets and stowed them, instead bringing out ammunition marked with white. The officer next to Hotchner looked at him sideways; he hadn’t heard Morgan’s warning.

“Do your people have silver bullets?” Hotchner asked in explanation. “There’s a confirmed werewolf inside.”

The man shook his head, color draining from his face. “Only the snipers do, officially. The department couldn’t justify the expense for the rest of us. I think only a couple officers bought some for themselves.”

“Pull back. Without silver your only chance is multiple hits, and we have a victim in there.”

The man complied, stepping back as the FBI agents stepped forward. Two other officers, both sporting white magazines, stuck with them.

“Morgan, Prentiss, anything else?”

Next to Rossi, Prentiss pulled out her earbud and listened closely to the house. Her sense of smell was not as keen as Morgan’s, but her ears were nearly as sensitive. 

“Movement. Low, west side,” she reported.

“Confirmed, definite scent mixture too. He’s in there with Brittany,” Morgan said.

“Move.”

The team moved in smoothly, Prentiss and Morgan taking out the front and back doors, Hotchner, Rossi, and Reid sweeping in after them, the officers securing the perimeter, then following after the agents. Prentiss and Morgan were careful to stay on point, using their bodies as shields in case of an ambush. They checked each room carefully, living room, kitchen, office…

“Hotch, he’s been denning,” Reid reported, seeing the bedroom a tangled snarl of blankets curved into the shape of a human-sized wolf’s body.

That was a very bad sign, everyone knew. Reverting to animal nature was a sign of deteriorating stability. 

“Basement,” Morgan said quietly. 

Prentiss could smell the sharp scent of fear rolling up the stairs as she opened the door, along with the werewolf smell, mixed with blood, sex, and dirt.

Morgan was growling deep in his throat as everyone carefully moved down the stairs, guns tracking for movement. Renard was in the far corner, crouching over Brittany, oblivious to their presence, too deep into his own world and the girl’s terror to pay them any attention.

“Edward Renard!” Prentiss called. The werewolf’s head came up, the bones subtly different in a partial transformation, his teeth fang-like and bloody from biting Brittany’s flesh.

“Back away from the girl!” Hotchner had come in from the other side, Rossi at his shoulder. Prentiss moved to cover Rossi, the movement so automatic she didn’t even have to think about it. Renard snarled, and everyone tightened their aim. 

“We’re loaded with silver. Don’t even try,” Rossi warned flatly.

Brittany whimpered below Renard, and he growled loudly.

“Back away now!” Morgan demanded, a bass rumble in his voice that warned the wolf was close to the surface. In the dim light of the basement both werewolves’ eyes flashed green. Renard seemed to shrink in on himself, Morgan’s alpha presence cowering him, but he was still too close to Brittany.

“Move,” Hotchner repeated.

Renard crouched lower, and Emily hissed in warning at Brittany’s pained moan. He started and looked up, seeming to see and scent Emily, finally. She flashed her fangs at him, and he flinched backwards, stepping away from Brittany. 

Brittany made a sound like a sob in her throat, and Renard suddenly growled at everyone with bloody teeth, his legs tending to spring. He only moved a step before Rossi and Hotchner each put a bullet into his chest.

The sound in the confined space floored both alter-humans, leaving them almost prostrate on the floor, clutching their ears from the pain and disorientation. When Emily could look up, she automatically searched for Rossi, finding him with Hotchner. Both were checking Renard from a distance, wisely neither of them getting too close. Morgan staggered to his feet to pull Brittany away from Renard, a resigned and sad expression on his face when the extent of her wounds was discovered.

Emily pushed herself upright, knowing Morgan’s pain. Several of the bite wounds were at least a day old, maybe more. None of them were in a vital place, which mean Renard had known what he was doing. He had been trying to infect Brittany, which was what he had been attempting to do to all the other women he’d killed. She might have to deal with lycanthropy for the rest of her life.

\-----

“She’ll live,” Rossi said, hanging up his phone. “Brittany should be out of the hospital in a week or so.”

“Is Morgan staying?” Prentiss asked.

“Until morning. They’re giving her a course of silver nitrate now. They should know by tomorrow if she’s infected or not.”

“We can stay that long,” Hotchner said. A dozen different cases would be waiting for them no matter what time they returned, and Morgan always felt responsible in cases like this. Hotchner tried to give his agents the leeway they needed to deal with their jobs. 

The agents filtered out of the conference room, heading back to the hotel. It was creeping up on midnight, and while they had all pulled all-nighters before, they tried not to make it a habit. 

Except for Emily, but that was understandable. Rossi lingered as the others left, helping her organize the files as one of the officers slipped into the conference room.

“You and Agent Morgan faced down Renard.”

Prentiss looked up from her work, and saw Officer Peters, one of the two officers who’d followed them into Renard’s house. She’d caught him looking at her with a bit of astonishment during the raid, and far less fear than many of the other officers.

“Our whole team did,” Prentiss corrected, nodding at Rossi, then at the door.

“Yeah, but Renard wasn’t exactly respecting silver. But he respected you, and um… what you can do.” Peters shifted a bit from foot to foot, and behind him, Prentiss and Rossi could see other officers surreptitiously monitoring what was going on.

“A denning werewolf will respond to threats differently. He might have tried to challenge Agent Morgan, but a vampire isn’t in his usual playbook. I knew I could at least startle him, just by being what I am.” Emily had heard these before; someone trying to romanticize a vampire’s abilities, making them seem larger than life. She could help dispel a few myths right here, right now, and save the next vampire to come through here a lot of hassle. “It’s really not like TV or the movies,” she explained.

Rossi kept his head down and tried to hide a smile. He knew what this was leading up to. This would be enough entertainment to make his night, if Officer Peters kept asking the expected questions.

“Mostly,” the deputy said, waving at Prentiss’ daywalker suit, now folded over a chair.

She shrugged. “The virus we have is based off something found in a tomb. Some real person had it over a thousand years ago. The old legends had some small basis in reality.”

“Valley of Monsters,” he muttered. Prentiss nodded, glad to see at least one officer who’d done some homework. 

Sixty-odd years ago, one archeological dig had yielded both vampirism and lycanthropy in the preserved corpses of some long-ago rulers. Even now people swarmed to Transylvania in hopes of discovering some new disease that would account for some mythological creature. _What did they hope to find?_ Emily asked herself cynically. Elves? Faeries? Gorgons? One was an unlikely as the other. The hype surrounding the possible next big discovery kept it fresh in the public’s mind.

That was the point, though. Studying the diseases of the past could yield important information as to trends in the spread of disease and possible changes in certain viruses or bacteria over the years. That had been the original reason for excavating the tombs in what had become known as the Valley of Monsters. Drug companies attached to the laboratories that worked on the original samples recovered from the preserved corpses had seen the incredible potential in the viruses still in their tissues. 

It was thought that a diluted form of lycanthropy, with its association with rapid growth and change, could become a growth hormone or healing agent. Even, some had thought clandestinely, a performance enhancer. Unfortunately the virus had been more potent than anyone had realized, and had caused more damage than anyone could have anticipated. The first generation of lycanthropes had been very close to the monsters of old horror stories. Subsequent tinkering with the virus, toning down its effects through various generations of laboratory mutation, had muted the effects almost to the point of their original intent, but it had given law enforcement a whole new kind of criminal to look out for.

What was worse was the fact that lycanthropy could be transmitted. Either through a deep bite, or sexual contact, the virus could be spread without having to pay for it. That was why the drug companies had been so careful with vampirism. They had made certain it could not be transmitted, that its effects would be as they had intended, and had pushed to hedge vampires in with laws that would both protect the public and preserve their tattered reputations. Because vampirism wasn’t anything so simple as a growth hormone, it was a powerful healing agent for the desperate, with long-term consequences.

So people like Emily, who feared an early death, had to sign up for vampirism. They had to be tested, physically and psychologically, to see if they could handle the transition. And they had to have money. The virus itself was a shockingly expensive life insurance policy. And after the tailor-made injection (neatly, from a syringe into the dying customer, administered by a nurse), the newly-made vampire had to be able to support his or her new lifestyle. Blood from slaughterhouses, payments to human donors, daywalker suits, and light-proofing a dwelling could all add up. Vampires, as created by the virus, actually couldn’t feed exclusively on humans. It was too rich, the equivalent of drinking too much alcohol. But they had to have some nearly every day, or suffered from malnutrition.

There were even the equivalent of vampiric grants or scholarships, for those who feared death but possibly could not have afforded the lifestyle. But for those who had family histories of fatal illness, or were in potentially hazardous lines of work, it was worth any price. 

Even the prejudice and prying questions.

“So, are any of the vampire shows or movies right?” Peters asked.

Rossi turned away to hide an outright grin. Here was where things really started to get good. Prentiss wouldn’t look at him, or she’d start laughing. It was a nice switch from the near-hostility of earlier.

“Some of them have some things right. Really, we’re not as cinematic as they are though.”

The officer got a bit of a challenging smile on his face at that.

“You’re more like Underworld, with the virus and all, right?”

“Not really…”

“True Blood?”

“No.”

“Vampire Diaries?”

“No.”

“Moonlight?”

“No.”

“Being Human?”

“US or UK versions?”

“Uh…” the officer blinked.

“No,” Emily said before he could answer, trying to keep a straight face.

“Buffy?”

“Definitely no.”

“Forever Knight?”

“No.”

“Vampire the Masquerade?”

“That show was a travesty, and no.”

“Dracula?”

“No.”

“Twilight?”

“Dear God, no.”

“Anything I forgot?”

“Probably several, and… no.”

“Not even a hint?”

“Bite me.”

“Isn’t that your line?”

Emily smiled at Peters as she swept the last files into her bag. “No.”

Rossi managed to keep a straight face as the officer turned to him for some help. “Sorry, no help from me.”

Officer Peters seemed to know he was beaten. He held out his hand to her, then Rossi, shaking firmly. “I’m glad your team could help us. I don’t think we could have caught Renard otherwise.”

“Thank you for letting us come,” she said, and rolled up her daywalker suit. Rossi took pity on the man, and recommended a book on vampires to satisfy his curiosity. That Rossi himself had written said book really didn’t matter; it _was_ one of the best books one could get on the subject. Prentiss went out the side door of the precinct, Rossi right behind her, and took a deep breath of the night air. 

“If you want dinner, I’m good for another hour,” Dave said, still cheerful despite the lateness.

Emily smiled. “You’re good for more than that. Let’s go.”

\-----  
 _Three years ago_

Prentiss sat in silence, letting her potential boss absorb what she’d shown him, what she’d said. If this were a normal situation, she might have felt confident that her record, skills, and determination would have proved that she truly wanted this job, that she hadn’t picked it on a whim, or used her powerful family ties to push herself to the front of the line. That impression of power could be dealt with, and she could see Hotchner trying to set aside his prejudices about her family on her behalf. 

But Emily Prentiss had one other thing on her résumé that was harder to get past, something that could cause a disruption in their investigations. Something that could cause problems for the team even if they never knew she was an ambassador’s daughter, or her past with Interpol.

“How long have you been a vampire?” Hotchner asked neutrally.

“Twenty-two years. I was given the virus after a car crash when I was thirty-six.”

“Do you have a Source?”

“I did, but he’s moving at the end of the month. I understand our hours would be irregular, and I can find temporary donors.”

“I appreciate your willingness to accommodate, but we do sometimes go into areas where there is no strong vampire presence. Blood may be difficult to find, and donors even more so. Would it be a problem if you fed from one of the team?”

Emily was startled by Hotchner’s acceptance, of not just her, but of her nature. “Sir- you-.”

“I’d like to see you in the field, but all of your skills look good and your recommendations are outstanding. However, we have to be certain you have a Source before you go anywhere.”

“I understand,” Emily said, dropping her eyes slightly as Hotchner led the way. That was a vampire’s humiliation, to be so utterly dependent on other people. She was like an infant that couldn’t leave its mother, but worse. Emily couldn’t be alone for more than a day, couldn’t take a vacation or go on a retreat. She was paying a very high price for her extended life. And Hotchner was being very reasonable. 

A few doors down was the briefing room, full of agents bent over folders and papers scattered on the table..

“Everyone, this is SSA Emily Prentiss.”

Emily nodded as she was introduced to everyone in turn: the thin, genius Dr. Reid, the experienced Rossi, the pretty, businesslike J.J., the slightly eccentric, brightly-colored Garcia, and-. Prentiss actually smiled as Derek Morgan was introduced. Hotchner’s mild reaction to her vampirism suddenly made sense. She had known there were some werewolves in the FBI, but not that there was one in the BAU. She’s thought she’d caught a hint of werewolf scent when she had come into the department, but the cup of distinctive-smelling wolfsbane tea in Morgan’s hand clinched his identity.

“Welcome to the Freak Unit,” Morgan said, grinning as he shook her hand. 

“I’m so flattered, you have no idea,” she said, returning his smile. Emily tested his grip subtly, and he gave back as good as she gave. He had to be a third generation werewolf at least. Hotchner apparently felt the risks were worth his skills. Like her. Emily felt something inside of her relax.

“Pleased to meet you.” Rossi was next in line to greet her, the others following after him. None were anything other than human, but each was unusual in their own way. From what Emily had heard about Reid, he was anything but normal. And Rossi was an agency legend, not only being one of the founders of team profiling but of the first practical vampire database. Add the explosively colorful Garcia and her legendary computer skills, J.J.’s unflappable calm in the face of the worst cases, as well as the aforementioned werewolf and now Emily, and Hotchner’s team had undoubtedly earned their nickname.

“She’ll be needing a Source,” Hotchner said, after introductions were done. The agents looked at each other, and Emily sensed a good bit of unspoken communication between them.

“I think everyone is willing. We could take turns so it’s not too much of a drain on any one person,” J.J. said finally.

“That’s actually a myth. Unlike traditional blood donation for hospitals, which draws a pint of blood, vampiric feeding only drains a half a cup to a cup of blood on average. Not to mention certain compounds in vampire saliva encourages a human body to produce red blood cells, so even long-time donors have never suffered from anemia, despite the frequency of draining,” Reid said immediately.

Prentiss had opened her mouth to explain when Reid had stepped in, and shut it again. “What he said.”

“Oh,” J.J. said, looking a bit bemused, but also not terribly surprised. Reid must pull out those kinds of factoids a lot. “I see.”

“It would be better if I had just one Source,” Emily added. Some people were prejudiced against both vampires and Sources; it was best to keep that contained, if possible. They did understand. And Emily was still surprised by their collective offer. Certainly she could go to a blood bar and find someone willing, but Emily would rather not have to grab the nearest willing vein. She’d done it in the past, but it was less than satisfying for her.

It was awkward, having to pick on first impression, and Emily didn’t want to rush. Though Morgan was healthy, strong, and fit, werewolf blood could be unpleasant; it frequently made vampires ill. Reid, skinny, pale, with bruised-looking circles under his eyes from probable sleeplessness, would be a poor choice. She didn’t consider Hotchner for more than a second, and rejecting him was pure politics, rather than health. Feeding off her boss would be a terrible decision. Garcia seemed so innocent, though she had to have mental toughness to do this job, that Prentiss didn’t want to stress her. Also, practically, she rarely went into the field. 

J.J. was definitely possible, but since she’d being doing the most interacting with the press, it would be inadvisable. Vampire fang wounds clotted in seconds and were healed in hours, but it was inevitable that someone would notice at exactly the wrong time. And once Prentiss looked at Rossi more closely, she was certain he was the one she wanted as a Source. It had less to do with health than it did with attitude. 

Though the rest of the team was certainly willing to help her, there was a tense nervousness in some of them. Intellectually they wanted to help her. Emotionally, it disturbed them a little. But Rossi had a relaxation about him that meant he truly was all right with this. Prentiss thought he might have even donated before. Thank God for experience. Rossi was her own age too, even if she looked far younger, so they’d have a little in common. Not to mention (though Prentiss would never say this out loud), she liked the way he smelled. Her senses were more powerful as a vampire, and though Morgan’s sense of smell would rival a bloodhound, far outstripping hers, such things mattered to her. Rossi used good soap, fine aftershave, and had expensive clothes and shoes. Fine leather and silk and wool were far easier on her nose than the cheaper polyester in more mass market garments.

“Dave, if that would be all right,” she said. Everyone else’s minute relaxation told her she’d made the right choice.

“Sure. Do you need some now?” he asked, entirely unperturbed.

“I’d appreciate it.” She’d had her slaughterhouse blood this morning, regular as clockwork, but the craving to feed had been gaining on her since yesterday.

“My office is down the hall,” he said, gesturing out the door.

Emily turned back to Hotchner. “This won’t take long, sir.”

“We’ll be ready to start when you get back,” he said, just as calmly as if she were going to get coffee, and not drain vital fluids from one of his co-workers. At that moment, Aaron Hotchner earned her undying loyalty. 

Emily walked down the hall into Dave’s impeccably decorated office, still not seeing any hint of hesitation or second-guessing in his gait or the set of his shoulders. He pulled a couple of chairs next to each other, shut the door, and sat himself down, offering up his wrist.

“You’ve done this before,” she said quietly.

“A few times,” he confirmed, and fished out his donor card from his wallet.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it and perusing it quickly.

“Do the paperwork later, you’re pale,” he said, offering his wrist again. Emily didn’t argue, and lifted his arm to her mouth. 

Her fangs unerringly sought the vein, deftly avoiding tendons and nerves as the flow started. Unlike popular legend and media, Emily did not, strictly speaking, _drink_ blood. Her hollow fangs sucked up the blood, though stray drops were laved up by her tongue. A vampire’s feeding was not a gory, sticky mess— they abhorred waste –but rather neat and close and intimate. It was another reason she hadn’t chosen Hotchner; she couldn’t afford to be that close to her boss. And he was married. This job was enough strain on a marriage without his wife knowing a female employee was feeding on him every day.

Emily could feel herself warming as Dave’s blood filled her, the sensuous scent of leather and cologne filling her nose, along with the rich scent and taste of blood. It satisfied a deep-lying craving no animal blood ever could, even if that kept her filled most of the time. A little reluctantly she pulled away, licking at the small wounds to ensure they would heal cleanly, as was proper procedure. By the time she let go and pressed a gauze pad to the bite, they were already coagulating.

Dave looked a little flustered, which was perfectly normal, but recovered quickly. She’d taken almost a half pint, and even though she’d like to feed daily, Dave would replace his blood fast. That was the benefit of being a vampire donor. That and the money. Emily would pay Dave every month for this privilege. That was the law.

“Thank you,” Emily said again.

“Anytime. Come on, we need to get back to the briefing.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Present_

Prentiss opened her door tentatively, having more expected a phone call that the team was getting ready to go. Instead, Hotchner was at her threshold with file folders under her arm. She felt a faint thread of unease as she waved him into the room. Mid-afternoon, she hadn’t stirred from here except to visit a slaughterhouse early this morning, and was still clad in her stiff, black daywalker suit.

“Prentiss, I want you and Dave to look into this case while we’re down here.” Hotchner handed her a file stiff with photographs, marked with the red tag that denoted a possible vampire-related crime. “Tell me what you see.”

The first view inside the closed covers was a mess of crimson gore. The subsequent views were no better. Prentiss took a deep breath as she scanned the pictures for her first assessment.

“This doesn’t look like a vampire assault. The wound placement is all wrong,” Prentiss said authoritatively, looking at the first of the dozen autopsy photographs.

“How is that?” he asked, probing for a thorough explanation.

“Vampires typically drink from the wrist or neck. Wrist is more typical at blood bars—the donor is doing the vampire a favor, so it’s more impersonal. Neck feeding is a sign of trust and equality and possible intimacy. Anywhere else would be concealment feeding or sexual bloodplay, and only if it were a single bite mark. These marks are too random, too large. This was either staged by someone trying to throw blame on vampires, a pretender will little experience, or possibly a ghoul.”

Hotchner’s face became tight and grim at that announcement. Ghouls were even worse than pretenders, people who went to extreme measures to gain what they couldn’t otherwise get. They infused themselves with vampire blood in an attempt to gain the same abilities as vampires. It could never truly convert them, as the virus couldn’t jump people in its bonded state, but it could give someone short-term strength, speed, and enhanced senses. The effect was addictive, and the withdrawal effects were extremely unpleasant. And because the consequences for a vampire dosing someone on purpose were so high, it meant that if it were a true ghoul, he was probably subduing a vampire. That took dedication, care, and resources. A very unfortunate combination for people trying to catch him.

But that was the reason there hadn’t been a confirmed case of ghoulism in ten years. 

Emily said as much to Hotchner, and he nodded.

“That why we need to be careful. The information we have is scattered. Though we have several deaths, the geographical profile is almost random. Finding connections between the victims has been difficult. But ghoulism is serious enough to warrant FBI investigation.”

Prentiss flipped to the back page. “The last sightings were near Jacksonville.” It was only maybe a half-hour drive from their hotel. 

“You have enough time to start looking around here. That’s why I told you now. Morgan won’t be back from the hospital until after midnight.”

“You realize I have friends down here,” Prentiss said reluctantly.

“I was counting on it.”

Hotchner understood. Then he’d understand this too. “I’m going to go to the Jacksonville blood bar. It’s the best place to start looking.”

“Only share details sparingly.”

“I can be discreet, sir.”

“I am counting on that too.”

\-----

Rossi had been entirely fine with going to a blood bar, as blasé about going into a vampire establishment as he’d been invading a werewolf’s den. 

“Best possible place to ask around, unquestionably,” had been his only comment after taking a look at the file. Idly Emily wondered if his enthusiasm might have been mitigated if the rest of the team had come along. Hers certainly would have. 

She paused and ran that statement through her mind a few times as she parked several blocks away and began to walk; no need to advertise their presence as government agents by showing up in a black Suburban. As a matter of fact, it was probably best to not appear as government agents at all. Vampires were certainly used to having their privacy invaded, but tended to guard what little they were able to keep to themselves with rabid fierceness.

When they were still two blocks away, she paused at a corner, putting her hand on Dave’s elbow. 

“Dave, would you be willing to wear a bracelet when we go in?”

He slowed, then stopped, turning to look at her fully. “Marking your claim?” His tone was light-hearted, but Emily didn’t smile.

“Mostly people are pretty polite, but some can get insistent. This will cut down on the misunderstandings.” 

“And after you told us you were all kept on a tight leash,” Dave smiled.

Emily bared her fangs in a mock-growl. “Don’t get cute with me about this. I’m just worried.”

“Point taken. Well?” Dave held out his wrist.

Emily turned the palest shade of pink as she pulled a small jewelry box from her purse. Inside it held a thin, dark red leather band with a silver clasp. Dave listened to what Emily was not saying, and didn’t ask questions. “Do they know you here?”

“Marie does; she’s the owner. But she doesn’t know all that I do. Do you mind if I’m your literary agent?”

“I look forward to the day,” he said with a grin.

Emily smiled involuntarily; he was so damn _reasonable_ about this. She held out the box to Dave, and he awkwardly fastened the clasp one-handed. 

“Have you ever been in a blood bar before?”

“Several times.” Dave settled the bracelet on his arm easily; immediately comfortable with it. 

“Curiosity?” she asked, her heart doing an odd little flip.

“It was for a case study. The victims were all donors, and I needed some insight.”

“The money didn’t hurt either, I bet,” Emily said, her smile turning a bit cynical.

“The FBI doesn’t usually give cash bonuses. Besides, what I do on my own time is my business. And we ended up catching the guy.”

“Ah,” was all she said.

“As long as no one had embarrassing sex tapes, the powers that be looked the other way.” His grin was completely insouciant. 

“It’s a good thing I know the owner, then.”

Dave’s smile softened as the bar came into view. The deep sanguine lights were a bit melodramatic, but perhaps the easiest way to identify the otherwise featureless bar. No windows and a solid door made it look blank and uninviting, but the bloody lights drew the donor crowd like a moth to a flame. Apparently the night was still young, as the hidden bouncer, ensconced behind the door with only a slit open, was inspecting the waiting hopefuls carefully, letting only a few at a time.

Blood bars didn’t have individual names; individual ones were known by locations or the proprietor’s name only. This one was known as “4th Street Jacksonville” or “Marie’s.”

For all their outward appearance of nighttime entertainment establishments, they were not primarily places of recreation. They were necessities, not luxuries. Vampires that lived in places where there weren’t blood bars either moved nearer to one or started their own. Part restaurant, part medical center, part meeting place, part sanctuary, there was no greater gathering place for vampire culture anywhere else in a city. 

Emily easily parted the crowd of eager hopefuls. Dave could see how her pale, pale face seemed to glow in the sanguine lights, making an instant impression. The low-voiced word passed through the crowd, audible enough to Dave, and probably as loud as normal conversation to Emily.

“She’s new!” “God she’s beautiful.” “Real deal, no faking that.” “Do you think she’ll want me?” “Don’t throw yourself at her. God, Alice, have some self-respect.” “My wrists are good, fuck, please look at me, I need the fucking money…”

Emily sailed on as if she hadn’t heard a thing, Dave following her with complete confidence that he wouldn’t be stopped. That confidence seemed to cow the younger crowd (Dave estimated he had at least thirty years, or more, on most of the throng). When one man seemed ready to block his passage, Dave seemingly idly reached up to brush invisible lint off of his lapel, making the silver clasp of Emily’s bracelet flash. The man backed down, muttering something under his breath. Dave only caught the word “lucky.”

In the abstract, Dave knew the meaning of the bracelet. It marked him publically as someone’s Source. Though blood bars were usually full of unbound donors wanting to offer themselves for the money or the thrill, some vampires with Sources preferred to come there to drink in company, like how a normal human would go out to eat with friends. Hence the occasional Source arriving at a blood bar did not raise any eyebrows, and prevented Dave from having to fend off other vampires all night. 

It didn’t matter that he already _was_ Emily’s Source; if it wasn’t announced subtly with the bracelet, Dave would be in for a long-winded explanation with paperwork every time he turned someone down in a place like this. But it was usually more politic on cases to not flaunt his status. He hadn’t even realized Emily had gotten a bracelet for him.

Emily rapped softly at the club door, and the small window portal was thrown open.

“Emily Amelia Prentiss,” she said quietly. Dimly, Dave could see a man inside, who pushed a small block of some clear substance out into Prentiss’ hand. She bit into it, her long fangs extended, going almost all the way through, then pulled it off and passed it back. Through the tiny window, Dave could see the bouncer’s craggy face illuminated by faint white light, as if from a computer screen. A few beeps could be heard as he manipulated the block under a small blue light.

“It’s fang ID recognition. Unique as fingerprints, and a lot harder to forge,” Emily murmured in explanation.

“Ah.”

“Dave?” she asked, her voice so quiet she could barely be heard. “Unless you absolutely need to think you need to say otherwise, we have an exclusive contract, ok?”

He nodded, relieved. He certainly wasn’t intending to offer himself up tonight anyway, nor would Emily have asked him to, but the offer of exclusivity wasn’t something he would have asked for. It was a mark of claim that meant a closer relationship than either of them was willing to announce casually, even for a cover.

The door’s bolt slammed back, and Emily turned and waved Dave inside politely, neither making him follow like a lovelorn pet or letting him parade in front of her like he owned her. Appearances were extremely important now, and they both knew it. She stayed at his shoulder as they passed through the crooked hallway. _To trap daylight_ , Dave remembered. No vampire-modified dwelling had an exterior door that opened directly onto any room.

Dave could smell incense and the faint floral scent he remembered from his last visit to a blood bar. In reaction to their clientele having to frequent slaughterhouses, blood bars never, ever smelled of their stock-in-trade. In this case, it smelled of lavender. Once out of the light-trap turn, the bar opened up to an intimate collection of plush chairs, soft, gauzy hangings that offered a bit of privacy, and the long bar of its name along the back wall, more well-supplied with water and juice for donors to rehydrate themselves than liquor.

A few groups of nervous donors sat in the chair-groups nearest the entrance, while others for whom this was clearly old hat sat farther in, calmly waiting for their regulars to show or new ones to take an interest. Dave thought he’d spotted a likely group to talk to when a vivacious petite blonde detached herself from the groups of vampires on the edges of the room and made a bee-line for them.

“Emily!” she enthused, her French accent immediately apparent. She embraced Prentiss joyfully, kissing her on each cheek without a hint of artifice, with blithe regard for her designer dress. One of Dave’s ex-wives had had a thing for couture dresses, and even if he couldn’t name the designer, he could tell it was expensive and genuine.

“Mon amie, it has been too long. How will I ever forgive you?”

“Like you always do, Marie,” Prentiss said, smiling.

“C’est impossible, this one,” Marie said, turning her dazzling smile on Dave without hesitation. “Marie Deveroux, in case Emily forgot to tell you. Welcome.” She hugged and kissed him with not a jot less warmth than she’d greeted Emily. Dave didn’t hesitate, and when she released him, captured her hand and dropped a kiss on the back of it. Marie flushed, dark enough that he could actually see it, showing she was very well-fed.

“Oh, how marvelous! A man with charm, true charm. I thought I’d left them behind in Paris! Do not take this the wrong way, but I almost want to nibble on you.” A wink and another dazzling smile, and Dave smiled back with the right amount of irony.

“I’m flattered. Your place is lovely.”

“As it should be. But I am unforgivable! Your name?” she asked, her hands fluttering, her gemmed jewelry sparkling in the light.

“Dave. David Rossi.”

“David! Oh yes.” Marie put a hand on Emily’s arm, seemingly delighted by them both.

“He’s a writer, Marie.”

“The name is familiar…” Marie trailed off, looking at Dave speculatively.

“I write true crime, mostly,” Dave offered.

“Ah, now I know where I’d heard it before! Forgive me, I found your books very scary. I could not finish them!”

“It’s not for everyone,” Dave said, slightly amused that a vampire would find anything frightening.

“But now that I know you, I shall have to try again. Emily can come over and keep me company if I get scared.” Marie clung onto Emily’s arm for a moment, very bright next to Emily’s black clothing and dark hair.

Dave allowed a very brief, very inappropriate fantasy to play in his mind’s eye before dragging his attention back to the here and now.

“And you, my dear?” Marie asked, looking up at Emily.

“His agent. I’m helping get the word out on the bad guys he writes about.”

“A most worthy goal, and one our keepers would approve. So, a private room, or just a table for two?” 

“I’m actually doing a bit of research,” Dave said casually. “Would you mind if I ask a few questions of some of your patrons?”

Marie didn’t have to think for more than a second. “Of course! I shall kidnap Emily and catch up until you’re ready. Darling, you’re so pale, have you had anything today at all?” 

“Just a bit of breakfast,” Emily admitted.

“Pah, you cannot skip meals. It is not healthy!” Marie’s eyes flickered over to Dave’s, flowing down his arm to his bracelet. He opened his mouth to make the offer when Emily interrupted him.

“If I could just get a pint, Marie, and I’ll feed later.”

“Sensible. I know my Emily.” With another smile at Dave, Marie linked her arm with Emily’s and tugged her off to her own table. 

Dave took one second to pray for strength, and strolled up to his chosen table of potential donors. 

\--

Marie was fast, and had warm lamb’s blood, minutes from the vein, in Emily’s hand by the time she sat down. No typical slaughterhouse plastic tub either, instead she had a warmed crystal goblet, making feeding as elegant as drinking wine. Emily silently blessed her for making this feel civilized.

“So, this Dave, I like him,” Marie said without preamble. “He is good for you, trustworthy, handsome, and he loves you.”

Emily almost snorted blood up her nose in surprise. “Marie!” she sputtered indignantly. She’d almost forgotten how very candid Marie was. “We’re co-workers!”

“Business should be taken with pleasure, else why live life? Besides, you love him too, so all is well. I know how you wish equality, a partnership in your affairs.” She gestured broadly for emphasis, talking eloquently with her hands.

“Marie, I’m not in love with him, or him with me! I like him, and we’re friends-.”

“What is love but friendship caught fire? Emily, do not try and fool me that you are dead from the neck down. He cares for you. You gave him the bracelet.”

“It’s-.” Emily clamped her mouth down on a too-truthful explanation. “It’s awkward when he’s my Source.”

“Yet such things are very intimate. I love all my Sources, and they are in love with me, at least a little.”

“That’s you,” Emily said pointedly.

Marie leaned forward and grasped Emily’s free hand. “I am French, Emily. It is my prerogative, my sacred mission, to advice on matters of the heart. I am a lover. I listened to my own mother, all my relatives, my siblings, all of my children and their children. You know me, Emily. Believe me when I say these things.”

Emily finished her cup quickly and put it down before she could shatter it in her grip. Marie was right, at least in the fact that for love advice, she could have no better guide. Marie came from a huge family, and had received the virus when she’d died from complications from the birth of her fourth child. She was over eighty years old, and her family revered her. Marie was a poster child for vampiric success, and wise even beyond her years. It was the reason Emily had wanted to come here for the case. If she could trust anyone, she could trust Marie.

Still. “We’ve barely even-,” Emily protested.

“Oh, ma cherie. Such a long and lonely road we travel. It need not be so hard. God has sent you this man.” Emily’s mouth twisted, and Marie pressed a finger to her lips, smoothing them. The argument was one of old standing: Catholic doctrine held vampirism to be a perversion of God’s law. Those who were injected with the virus were excommunicated as a matter of course. Like all things forbidden, however, an underground existed. Vampire priests and worshippers had formed the Vampiric Catholic Church within two years of the ruling. But it didn’t take away the pain of being forbidden a community you’d been baptized into as a child.

“He has. You are loved, Emily.”

“I’m too well-loved, Marie.”

“Mon petite chou. You cannot blame your mother for wanting you to live. Nor yourself.”

Emily clutched Marie’s hand, and felt the understanding in her grip. “Am I a coward, Marie?”

“We are sinners, you and I. Guilty of lust and greed for life. But you cannot be a coward and choose this fate.”

“Thank you.” Emily could feel the warm rush of tears, and held them back, just barely.

\--

Dave left Emily to her friend, knowing she’d steer the conversation around to the possible ghoul attacks eventually. He checked over the room, taking a moment to lurk and observe some of the people he hoped to talk to. It bothered him slightly that he was the oldest-looking person in the room, but he dismissed it as he approached a table of mid-level donors. 

There were informal arrangements in any blood bar that were nevertheless rigidly enforced by the patrons. First-timers or infrequent donors were closest to the door, in the largest section. Those with more experience were towards the middle, some of whom bore collars or bracelets. Exclusive Sources were closest to the bar, their claim jewelry rich and prominent, when they chose to display it. As Dave watched, a black-haired male vampire joined the Sources briefly. A raven-haired woman quickly made excuses and walked off with him to a concealed alcove to feed. Dave felt a jolt of something as he let his eyes glance off of them and joined his chosen table.

“Hey,” he said in greeting, sitting in an empty chair.

A lithe brunette with her hair bobbed greeted him with a dimpled half-smile. “Hey. You’re new.” She was looking him over carefully, and spied the leather bracelet on his wrist. “Who’s yours?”

Dave had no reason to lie, and since it would look odd not to, nodded in Emily’s direction. The girl looked impressed.

“Wow. She’s really lovely.”

“Thank you.”

“Why not be nearer the bar? We’re kind of a tasting menu over here.”

Dave did not quite manage to cover either his laugh or his surprise.

The girl tossed her hair and giggled. “We thought of that one ourselves. They think it’s pretty funny.”

“I would too.”

“What brings you around?”

“I’m a writer. True crime novels.” Dave pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket as he talked, and the girl seemed to get his implication immediately.

“Ooo! Research. Sexy,” she said with a laugh. Unlike Marie, who was completely unconscious of her overwhelming charm, this girl was applying her skills with careful intent. Dave felt a bit bad she was doomed to disappointment.

“Dave,” he said quickly, before she could get sidetracked.

“Angelica. What are you looking for?”

“Any regular vampires stop coming in the last few months?”

She paused to think, raking her gaze over her table companions.

“Uh, Gavin moved to Minnesota, and Charlene’s in upper Alaska for the winter,” a stringy young man with flaming red hair offered. He looked too skinny to be a donor, but looks were often deceiving.

“Alaska?” Dave asked.

“Sunbird,” Angelica said. “Like a snowbird. Dark all winter up there.”

“Ah. But anyone just stopped showing up?”

“You know, Elise hasn’t been around in a while,” another donor offered. “But neither has Kyle, so I figured they were just moving in together.”

“Kyle’s a donor. He was angling to be a Source, so…” Angelica trailed off. 

“Makes sense,” Dave said neutrally. “Is that what you’re all trying to do, become Sources?”

A few nodded, but a couple others shook their heads.

“I like variety. Having new people each time is fun. How’d you pick her? Or was it the other way around,” Angelica asked, nodding in Emily’s direction.

“We work together; she’s my agent. She asked if anyone at the office was willing, a few people said yes, including me, and she asked if I would be her Source.” That was close enough to the truth.

“Oh, she’s a brain-drainer,” Angelica said knowingly.

“A _what?_ ” Dave asked, his plan to work the conversation back around to the case completely sidetracked.

“Brain-drainer,” she repeated, and upon seeing his continuing confusion, giggled. “Wow you _really_ don’t come to the bars very much, do you?”

“Last time I did, jelly shoes were all the rage. Would you mind explaining?” Dave wasn’t above exaggerating his ignorance if it would throw the kids off-guard. Besides, he was interested.

“Vampires are all ‘you are what you eat.’ Who they drink from matters. If they want to be more of something, they drink from the right people. You get beauty queens.” She nodded at some vampires at a table of exceptionally attractive people. “Jocks.” This group was heavily muscled men and women. “Swifts.” Thin and fit individuals, runners or gymnasts made up the table Angelica nodded toward. “Or porn stars.” The last group was the largest, a languid table of men and women dressed to kill, all their assets on frank display. “There aren’t too many brain-drainers here. You see them more around college towns.”

“I guess I’m lucky,” Dave said blandly. “What do you consider yourself?”

“Oh, I usually get picked by porn stars,” she said, catching the eye of a vampire lurking near their table. Angelica deliberately took a deep breath, deepening her cleavage as the short, blonde-haired man came within talking distance.

“Good evening,” he said solemnly, his face pale even in the dim lighting. 

“Are you wanting one person, or a tasting?” Angelica said, taking control of the table by unspoken assent. Dave gathered the others here knew her well.

The vampire’s eyes brightened. “A tasting would be very nice. Everyone here?” 

The others nodded, but Dave stood up. “I was just visiting. Excuse me.” The vampire looked surprised and a little disappointed, but didn’t impede Dave’s leaving. As he walked away, he saw the vampire pull out a feeding card for the table to sign, both for consent purposes and to deposit money into their accounts. The second Angelica had flashed her donor card and signed her name, she held her wrist up, and the vampire fell on it, fangs extended. A brief expression of pain crossed Angelica’s face before relaxing into a smile.

Dave took a quick, steadying breath as he walked away. 

He’d lied to Angelica; he’d been at blood bars more recently than the eighties. His last time had actually been on a book tour a couple of years ago. One of the cases in his book had included Garrison Hobbs, the Smithtown Slasher, who preferred to kill donors. Dave had been part of the team that had brought him in, and Dave had attracted more than a few vampire fans from that case.

What he’d told Emily was true; he originally gone to blood bars as research for that case. But he’d kept going back. Not every night. No even every week, but a few times a year he’d gone. The money was neither small potatoes, nor overwhelming, except to those on the edge of desperation; twenty five dollars for a tasting, fifty for a feeding. Sources received more, being as they were on-call, but that was negotiable. No, he’d gone because he’d found it interesting, and yes, pleasurable. 

Retirement had only been so amusing, and keeping up on vampire culture was important. Werewolves were far more dangerous and difficult to infiltrate—better to ask vampire friends about them than go yourself. So he’d justified his interest with “research,” building a database of information, a kind of shorthand of vampire culture, that he’d shared with the Bureau. He enjoyed the whole process, talking with other potential donors, short discussions with vampires before and after feeding, and the feeding itself. If vampires hadn’t figured out how to make draining feel good, they wouldn’t have gotten any donors but the most desperate or altruistic.

Dave scanned the bar and found another mixed table, this one fortifying themselves with food and drink in a post-feed feast, and wandered by to make another introduction.

\--

Emily sighed as she dabbed away the remains of her tears. Her picking this blood bar hadn’t been on a whim. Not only was Marie plugged into the local community and culture deep enough that she would be a font of information, the older woman had a wealth of wisdom Emily instinctively trusted. Finding good advice was hard, and Emily freely admitted that if Hotchner hadn’t sanctioned this trip, she would have gone anyway on her own time.

“What weighs on you, Emily? You do not come to visit me on a whim, ever,” Marie said, her strong grasp on Emily’s hand not abating.

“There have been some attacks in the surrounding area recently. The police are looking into it, from what I know. But the rumors are possible ghoul attacks.”

Marie started, looking shocked. “Surely not!”

“Have any vampires gone missing recently? Left town under odd circumstances? Any donors you had to evict, or who were acting strangely?”

Marie paused to think. “I have had two vampires move away; one had her Source go with her. There have been a few visiting vampires, about a half-dozen regular donors have changed their routines, and of course we always get new people.”

“A _half-dozen_ regulars?” Emily asked, aghast.

“Not like that! Three were college students who went back to school, one was a donor as a part-time job and didn’t need it anymore, another moved, and the sixth got pregnant.”

All legitimate enough reasons, but still… “Could I get their names?” Emily asked.

Marie signaled to one of her staff, spoke a few words, and sent the man walking back to the office. She then turned shook her head slowly.

“You are no literary agent, Emily.” That was said with simple conviction.

No point in hiding anymore, then. Marie was too clever, and Emily might get more information out of her with the truth. “I’m a profiler with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Ah. And Dave is not retired from being an agent.”

“No.”

“These attacks, Emily, tell me about them.”

Emily quickly outlined the case, saving the names, with a care for vampiric hearing, and Marie shuddered.

“Horrible. And this person is doing this on purpose?”

“That’s the theory.”

“You think it is someone I know?”

“I hope not Marie, but people like this… They hide who they are very well.”

“From his neighbors, perhaps. Not from us,” Marie said sharply. “I know a true ghoul when I smell one.”

“I have a colleague who can smell one a block away, but we have to know where to start looking.”

“A block away? Oh, you have a werewolf on your team?” Marie sounded delightfully scandalized, despite the seriousness of the situation.

“Yeah, Morgan. He’s very sharp,” Emily said.

“It is terrible to ask, but have you…?” Marie’s eyebrows went up suggestively.

“Marie, no!” Emily said, shaking her head.

Marie smiled, then sobered. “Emily, I truly cannot think of anyone who was acting strangely, but I will think, and call you, yes?” The list of donor names had come back from the office, and Marie stood up to hand them to Emily.

Emily passed her card to Marie, accepting another tight embrace.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Anytime, ma cherie.” 

Turning from Marie, Emily left to find Dave. Looking across the bar, she saw Dave extracting himself from another group of donors, leaving behind a card with his number on it. Emily tasted the leftover tang of lamb’s blood on her tongue as she caught his eye and steered them both towards a private alcove, subtly deadened to reduce the noise of the bar outside.

“Find anything?” she asked.

“A few possible donors who’ve left for apparently greener pastures, and a few absent vampires,” he said.

“Same here, though Marie says she’ll call if she remember anything. Hopefully Garcia will find a connection with the names we do have.”

“I hope so,” Dave said, and then his expression turned mischievous. “I also found out about the difference between beauty queens, porn stars, and brain drainers.”

Emily was startled into a hearty laugh. “Sorry Dave, I guess you know I just want you for your body.”

Dave grinned in response, but he could see the hint of something more in Emily’s eyes, and it killed the joke. He quickly sat down in the padded chair provided, and could actually feel heat from Emily when she sat down next to him. She automatically reached for his wrist, but Dave just tilted his head to the side, baring his throat. He heard Emily’s breath catch, then her warm fall of black hair spilled over his shirt as she descended upon him.


	3. Chapter 3

“Garcia ran the names,” Rossi said, spreading out the files on the vampires and donors they’d gotten from Marie Deveroux. “We’re not seeing any matches on our attack sites so far, but this is only a single location. Once we’re able to get more data, I think we’re going to see a pattern emerge.”

“It’s possible to extrapolate part of the pattern now,” Reid said, spreading out the folders with the potential ghoul attacks across the table. “We can at least work up the geographic profile of the ghoul and see if anything turns up as we get new information.” Prentiss knew Hotchner had said the geographic profile was impossible, but then again, this was Spencer Reid. If anyone could find a connection, he could.

“All right, let’s arrange these by date,” Hotchner said. “We need to be able to anticipate the next area he’ll be targeting.”

J.J. spread out the map and began placing push-pins as Reid sorted through the files. 

“This is more serious than I thought,” Prentiss said at length, taking the files from Reid as he finished with them. “The attacks go back almost a year. If someone is maintaining a vampiric effect for almost a year, they have to have control of a vampire. That takes a hell of a lot of effort.”

She glanced up at Hotchner, feeling uneasy that he’d withheld the full picture from her and Rossi. He caught her glance, nodded once in acknowledgement, and looked at Marie’s list in her hand. Prentiss sighed slightly. He was right; if Marie had known right off the bat that they were looking for a long-term ghoul, she could have conceivably clammed up. Like the officers and neighbors of Edward Renard in Atlanta, no one wanted to think they’d been host to a monster for so long. And Marie might have been able to read the truth if Emily had tried to be evasive, like she had pierced Emily’s cover story.

Hotchner was too good an agent not to cover that contingency. It was his job as unit chief to keep that larger picture in mind. She nodded back in forgiveness.

“Why would he have to have control of a vampire? Isn’t it possible for a vampire to be working with the ghoul?” Reid asked. Prentiss shook her head sharply.

“Do you realize how careful the companies are about who they inject? When I signed up for vampirism when I was eighteen, I went through two days of physical and psychological testing. I went to a psychologist every week I was able until I died. When I was injected, they kept me for a week of testing and training, and I saw a psychologist and doctor every day for two years. Then every week. Now I’m down to once every two. They have to know where I’m living and who I’m feeding from. They need to know who I’m working for and what I’m doing with my life. They know my financial situation, my living conditions, my friends and hobbies…” Emily finally stopped herself and took a cleansing breath. 

Not all of the team had known the full extent of her price for life, though they’d known something; it wasn’t something vampires like to talk about. Rossi had known the full story, because he was the other expert on vampire culture. Morgan knew most of it. Hotchner knew full well, because he would have had to access her files to vet her. He more than knew the consequences of her choice. If the rest of the team hadn’t seen the new medic alert bracelet he’d gotten after Foyet’s attack, it was only a matter of time before they’d notice. Emily had worn one like that herself, from age eighteen to thirty-six. 

Hotchner needed to live for his son; he couldn’t let him be alone in this world. He knew more than most the kind of monsters that lurked outside closed doors. That though brought a bitter smile to Emily’s face when she thought about it. She’d destroyed any possibility of having children when she’d been injected.

But the rest of them team needed to know everything she knew now. Controlling a vampire had dire consequences for the profile.

“Wow,” J.J. said softly. “I had no idea.”

“Do they do that for werewolves too, Morgan?” Reid asked.

“Not so much. We don’t need blood and it’s easier to get infected, so it’s harder to know who has what. When you find out you are infected, you’re supposed to get registered, chipped, and follow the law, but there’s too many of us to follow everyone as closely as vampires.”

“Chipped? Like a-.” J.J. shut her mouth, embarrassed.

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Like a pet dog, yeah,” Morgan said. “It’s not as bad now. The labs have gotten the strain toned down so much it’s almost doing what it’s supposed to.”

“But you’re-.”

“Second generation. They’re on sixth now. Hell, those people just get cranky around a full moon.”

“What about first?”

Morgan’s expression clouded. “Those that didn’t get hunted down and killed when they went insane are hiding out in the woods somewhere, reverted back to nature. You don’t need the FBI for a first generation werewolf. You need a few guys with sniper rifles.”

“Getting back to the original question, it’s not just the fact that vampires are so closely monitored, though that’s a big reason why a vampire wouldn’t be working with a ghoul willingly. Yes, it would be simpler for the ghoul if the vampire just showed up periodically so the authorities wouldn’t get suspicious about why he wasn’t logging his feeding habits. But since the ghoul would have to have the vampire in close proximity to him, that would leave a close trail to the attacks. So far, we haven’t found that,” Rossi said.

“If the ghoul has control of the vampire, he would be able to set up a false trail. He’d have to, to avoid discovery for this long. And frankly, I can’t imagine a vampire doing this willingly. If he or she is, the courts will convict, and the penalty for that is staking in sunlight,” Prentiss said with resignation.

“Why are the penalties for misconduct so much harsher for vampires?” J.J. asked. “I know they’re the harshest laws on the books, but why?”

There was an awkward pause while Morgan and Prentiss looked at each other.

“Several reasons,” Prentiss said finally. “I know we end up seeing a lot more werewolf unsubs, but there’s solid reasons for the disparity.”

“Like?”

“Political. The drug companies promised a ‘dilute strain’ of lycanthropy would be a wonder drug. They used it as a growth hormone, and then it found a black market as a performance enhancer before the side effects manifested. They lost control of the drug and couldn’t get their money’s worth before all hell rained down on them. Once bitten, twice shy,” Morgan said. Emily rolled her eyes at his word choice.

“Right, and? Werewolves are stronger, and _apparently_ more of a threat.” No argument there. The BAU handled dozens of werewolf or werewolf-related cases every year. Vampire-related cases were a lot rarer; they were more likely to see a case involving donors than actual vampires.

“Definitely,” Morgan said. “If Prentiss was a werewolf and I was a vampire, she could beat me at any strength contest you care to name, every time.”

“But vampires are faster,” Prentiss said. “Hard to catch. They’ve clocked vampires going over thirty miles an hour.”

“All right…” J.J. said, still looking skeptical.

“Also werewolves don’t need human blood to survive,” Morgan said.

“I can see-.”

Prentiss cut J.J. off, her expression going neutral. “The vampire virus was developed for one reason: survival. Vampires heal much faster. You could shoot me a dozen times, and not only could it not slow me down, I’d barely feel it. You can slow down a werewolf if you have to. Animal tranquilizers, wolfsbane darts, silver bullets, but if you have a problem with a vampire, your choices of stopping them are pretty much all lethal. Decapitation, fire, staking, or sunlight. That’s why they’re so careful before they inject anyone.”

“…Oh.”

“Next question?”

“Do we have any more attacks to put up?” J.J. asked.

Hotchner leaned over the piles of folders as Reid called out the last few attack dates.

\-----

The string of attacks had no clear epicenter, no particular geographical affinity, and with little data in the way of displaced vampires or donors, no clear pattern. Until the profilers could get more information, or more attacks occurred, they had a dozen more cases to occupy their time.

Prentiss and Rossi sent out discreet messages to the owners of other blood bars while Garcia kept running tabs on more official files. Vampires had to register where they moved, but the blood bar owners could help narrow down possibilities by telling them if the move was something other than, say, a need for a change of scenery. Knowing someone’s attitude towards a move was oftentimes more valuable than the move itself. 

More cases crossed their team’s desk: rogue werewolves, werewolf hunters, sociopaths and psychopaths, sadists, rapists, and cruel abusers of the purely human variety. Those who hated the strangeness that had invaded “normal” life often took out their anger on those who could not fight back. Next to late-generation werewolves, donors were the most likely to be victimized in alter-human hate crimes.

\-----

“Wait, hang on, say that again?” Emily needed to be certain she had heard Reid correctly.

“Would you be willing to feed on me? I’m having trouble getting into the mind of this unsub.”

Emily wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was pure Reid, wanting to try an experiment where simple reading wouldn’t suffice. “This really isn’t something you do on a whim, Reid.”

“I understand. It’s just the donor mindset has been a component of ten cases in the past six months, and I feel it’s very important to understand the process.”

She really couldn’t fault Reid’s logic. Dave had done the same thing. And speaking of Dave… Emily hit her first speed dial number.

“Rossi.”

“Dave, Reid wants me to feed on him.”

There was a quick pause, and then a burst of laughter. “An experiment, right?”

“Yes. He thinks it’s important to ‘understand the process.’”

“I hope he understand what he’s asking for.”

“It’s Reid,” she pointed out.

“I stand corrected.”

“I’ll see you later tonight.”

Dave sounded puzzled when he said, “You sure?”

“Yes. Bye.”

Reid was giving her a disconcertingly penetrating gaze as she snapped her phone shut, and Emily wondered why she’d called Rossi. It wasn’t as if he had any right to tell her who not to feed on, nor did she have any obligation to tell him who else she was feeding upon. Perhaps she’d just wanted a second opinion…

Emily shook her head to clear it. “Ok Reid, there’s a form-.” He held up a copy of the donor form, already filled out. “All right. Sit down.”

Reid sat gingerly in one of the chairs and turned his neck to the side. Emily caught her breath as the long expanse of smooth, pale skin, and took Reid’s hand instead.

“I never bite the neck on the first date,” she said lightly, pulling back his shirt cuff.

“I have thin wrists,” he protested.

“And prominent veins. Don’t worry, I’ve been doing this almost every day for over twenty years.”

“How do you avoid severing tendons or nerve with your fangs?” he asked suddenly, as Emily extended her fangs to bite. Disconcerted, she paused, and brought Reid’s hand up to her teeth so he could see for himself. He quickly discovered that while the tips of her fangs were sharp and hollow, the sides were not. “Ah, so unless you come down right on top of a vital structure, your fangs just push them aside.”

Emily nodded, the factoid seeming to calm Reid enough that he stopped subconsciously resisting. She was careful as she pierced his skin, going slowly, drawing a hiss of discomfort out of Reid, but not real sounds of pain. She sipped slowly, letting Reid feel what kept donors coming back, a feeling of a slow, sensual caress, light as a feather, from the inside out. It disturbed some people, even if they liked it. Others became nearly addicted to the feeling, but they rarely lasted long as donors. Vampires couldn’t afford a donor with a death wish. 

Reid seemed transfixed by the sensation, trying to analyze it and feel it at the same time. “I-. It, it-.”

Emily brushed Reid’s arm soothingly, needing to keep him calm. His blood was cooler than Dave’s with a metallic undertone, more nickel than iron. It was all right, rather curious, but not what she really wanted. She pulled away, licking the wounds clean, to Reid’s surprise.

“You did read about this before you asked me, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, but…” he trailed off, staring at his wrist in fascination.

“It’s different having someone lick your wounds clean.”

“Yes, that,” Reid said shortly, looking at his arm as if he expected it to fall off. “It’s very sexual.”

“It can be,” she said. She swallowed as she placed a gauze pad over wrist, the taste fading from her mouth. She’d barely tasted him; he’d be fine in an hour.

“The physical response of the donor, is that universal?”

“It’s very similar. I’ve fed on dozens of people, mostly repeat donors, but once or twice on first-timers,” Emily explained. “They usually react the same way.” 

“Does the response differ between vampires?”

“Only slightly.” Emily cracked a faint smile, trying to be reassuring. She was feeling jittery, nervous, like her mind was moving too fast. Reid’s blood was having its effect on her, unwanted as it was. “Stay here and drink fluids for an hour, and you should be all right. Was that everything?” She stood up, swallowing convulsively, one hand slipping into her pocket to drum on her phone.

“Ah, yes. Um… Thank you,” Reid said quietly, taking off the gauze to look at the marks on his wrist.

By the time he was done speaking, Emily was already in the elevator.

\-----

“You know I can talk to him, if you want,” Dave said in greeting, opening his door under Emily’s knock.

“He won’t ask again. He’s a fast learner,” she said, shutting and locking the door behind her. Emily breathed deep, savoring the scent of Dave’s home. He had exquisite taste, not to mention a fine appreciation for her sensitive nose. There were no harsh cleaning products or aggressive air fresheners here, just Dave’s own scent, permeating every room. Unlike some folks with large houses, he didn’t live in just one or two rooms, the others being just for show. He used everything, and was comfortable anywhere. 

“What happened?” Dave asked, as Emily tapped her hand against her thigh, her fingers unable to be still.

“He’s… nervous. I’m not used to him,” she said in a rush, her eyes darting up to Dave’s face and back again. “I haven’t fed from anyone but you in four years.”

Dave’s expression went oddly still, brief shock playing across his face.

“Go ahead, before you vibrate out of your skin,” Dave said immediately, reaching out to catch her twitching hand. He tugged slightly until they were both on a butter-soft leather sofa, his head tipped back and relaxed, neck exposed. Emily reached up to touch the expanse of skin, swallowing convulsively when Dave relaxed under her hand. Lips and teeth following in the next moment, seeking his vein with practiced ease. The heat of his blood filled her, his taste thick on her tongue, and she felt her hands steadying herself, one on the back of the sofa, the other splayed on his chest.

He breathed easily under her, not tense like Spencer had been, fitting against her body easily. Emily pulled back slowly as she felt her tension ease, and slowly lapped away the stray blood from the wound. Dave didn’t move as she prolonged the caress, the slow swipes of her tongue fading into a soft, almost weightless kiss against his neck. Then he shifted, his mouth catching hers in a swift, soft kiss. 

Dave waited, breathing quietly against her, and Emily kissed him again, harder, feeling the heat of his breath in her lungs. He matched her easily, lips capturing and releasing her over and over again, tongue slipping in to entwine with her, taking a care for her fangs. There was a breath that was almost a word of assent, and Emily reached to take Dave’s hand and place it firmly in forbidden territory.

He didn’t hesitate; his skilled hands divesting them both of clothing, Emily’s paleness making him look swarthy as she covered him. Her mouth didn’t leave his as their hands explored each other, hers finding places that made him gasp, his tracing her faint old scars from a lifetime ago. When they joined, Dave was pure heat inside her, and Emily was strong enough to make him cry out in shocked pleasure when her body broke and peaked around him. He sagged into the embrace of the couch as she held herself to him, and sobbed beautifully when he put his hand between them and brought her forever-younger body to a surfeit of ecstasy, drowning her in satiation. 

She wanted to bite something to muffle her noises, but didn’t dare. Dave held her as she relaxed into him, her eyes fixed on the fading bite marks on his throat, an almost-noiseless sigh passing her lips. He knew her. Dave knew her too well to expect her to say what she didn’t dare. He didn’t say anything either, just let one hand slide through her hair. 

Dave was over sixty, too old for the vampire virus to work on him even if he’d been signed up for it. Eventually, she would lose him, and there was not a damn thing she could do about it. It didn’t matter that he suited her, that he knew her, that he trusted her, and that she trusted him. It didn’t matter how much they cared. Eventually, there would be a break, a breach in what they had.

And if neither of them said it out loud, maybe they wouldn’t have to acknowledge it just yet. Just for a little while longer.

Wordlessly, they lay tangled together in the leather-scented dimness. 

\-----

Emily returned home, her daywalker suit feeling very unwelcome from the long night in Dave’s arms. Feeling almost ( _loved,_ her mind whispered, and she shunted that aside for now) normal for a few hours was a hard contrast to her having to strap herself back into the damn restrictive fabric so she wouldn’t catch on fire. Though Dave helping her adjust the straps, his hands lightly lingering on the curves of her body, made everything seem a little more… not normal, but commonplace, perhaps.

And all of that faint feeling of happiness vanished when she saw the letter lying on her floor. It didn’t have a stamp, postmark, or return address, but the handwriting and lavender perfume identified the sender immediately. Marie had sent it, and she never would have had a letter delivered unless she thought she wouldn’t be able to tell Emily the news in person.

The only reason why she’d do that was if she had something to say that was too explosive for the phone, but too urgent to wait. It had to be about the case. Emily had been keeping Marie updated about it, in a vague kind of way, to alert her to the danger of the ghoul. The letter suddenly felt inexplicably heavy in her hands. Emily sliced the envelope open with her thumbnail and unfolded the letter.

_Dearest Emily,_

_I give this to you at your home, because I dare not trust this to any eyes but yours. Every word I speak is true. I have asked around about the ghoul, and you have given us what we are to look for. His desire to fit in, his lust for life, his frustration at not being able to be what he wants, you describe him well, though I know you have not found him yet. You will, I know this. But you also say that he is controlling one of us to give him his unnatural power, that he is forcing a vampire through fear or some kind of blackmail._

_This may be true, but Emily, I must tell you a thing, and I pray you forgive me for telling you so late. Perhaps this ghoul did not start of his own accord. Twenty years ago, my youngest son Laurent was driving me into the countryside to a friend’s home. It began to rain, and though he was a good driver, the road was small and slick. He lost control, and the car slammed into a tree. I was well, for how could I not be? But Laurent… My baby, he was dying, his chest broken. It was too far from a hospital, and even if Laurent had been signed up for vampirism, which he was not, we were still too far to save him._

_I did something unforgiveable. I held open my veins and I put my blood into him. I watched his wounds close, and as soon as he was out of danger, I ran with him to the hospital. My God, Emily, I never wished to see my son in such pain, and for my weakness, I forced my decision on my own child. Laurent is distant from me now. I could have killed him, or he could have been weak in spirit and wanted more from me. Instead he drew apart from me, unwilling to condemn me to the stake, but not to love me for doing what I did._

_I pray you will forgive me, and that you find this desperate child and parent before another life is lost._

_Marie_

Emily read the letter three times, and then burned it to ash. Marie knew they had just gotten the rest of the data from the other blood bars; she’d supplied the last bits of information herself. This was the last piece of the puzzle, a way to find someone who was stealing power he wasn’t ready to use, and bringing death in his wake. At a stroke, the knowledge of a year-old ghoul could set back public perception of vampires by ten years or more.

Dave would suffer scorn and ridicule, maybe even official action about acting publically as a Source, if the team was unable to catch this unsub. Emily closed her eyes against Marie’s words from a few months ago ringing in her ears contrasting with the sobbing silence of last night.

The team needed to know about this possibility. Now.


	4. Chapter 4

With the new data, gathered over the past four months, the map on the board now showed some semblance of a pattern. It took Emily a while to see it, but predictably Reid was up out of his chair, swapping out one color pins for another to emphasize something he’d probably figured out from the doorway.

“Look at these patterns, here and here. They aren’t a complete match with the deaths and attacks, but there’s an eight percent similarity.”

Prentiss looked closely at the collection of dots and lines, tracing them with her finger. Dave reached the conclusion before she could voice it.

“The registered feedings in most of these places are within a vampire’s running distance of the attacks. It’s not out of the realm of possibilities for an attack to occur here and a feeding to take place miles away on the same night. Especially since some of the victims were moved.”

“That’s very bad. Are we looking at a willing vampire victim?” Morgan asked.

“Or a different motivation,” Prentiss said, heart briefly in her throat. “I… received a communication from Marie Deveroux. She’d once heard of a situation where a vampire deliberately infused someone with their blood to save them from a mortal wound.”

“That’s illegal as hell,” Morgan said flatly.

“The drug companies know about it, but it can’t be used in the hospital system. People can die from it, or get addicted to it, or have a severe moral objection to vampire blood that they’d rather die than use it,” Rossi said slowly. Prentiss looked over at him, trying to second guess which, if any, of those three fates disturbed him the most. His poker face was still second to none, she quickly decided.

“But these attacks could be out of love on behalf of the vampire rather than a need on behalf of the ghoul?” Hotchner asked.

“It could have started that way,” Prentiss said, her voice very quiet.

“These attacks are going back a year, though. From what you told us about how vampires are monitored, how would a vampire manage to conceal this from his psychologist for that long?” Reid asked.

“Well, look how often these attacks are moving around,” Morgan pointed out.

“He wouldn’t be seeing the same psychologist for very long. It’s not hard to fool people for a short period of time, particularly if he has a very pressing reason to lie,” Rossi said. “This is life or death to him.”

“All right, Garcia, take all of the vampires we have in our pool and check to see who have children. That would be the most likely scenario,” Hotchner said. “Look for independent wealth or a job than can be done while traveling. This unsub is a man of privilege, considering his contempt for his victims.”

“Six of the vampires have kids, all of them are more than a little loaded, sir,” Garcia reported with a bit of a shrug.

“We know he’s young. Any males in their early twenties?”

“Three.”

Rossi spoke up. “Check their financials for purchases from vampire paraphernalia websites or stores. He’s not going to have his own fangs.”

“And see if any have light-proofed vehicles. Any traveling vampire needs one,” Prentiss added. Unease was fading before the thrill of solving this puzzle.

“Will do… and…” Garcia’s hands rapidly clicked over the keyboard, a blur of brightly colors rings and nail polish. “Got him! Gabriel Witherspoon, twenty-three, father Karl took the virus five years ago, wife left him last year, moved in with his father. Extensive purchases from NightEternal.com and… his motorcycle was written off last year in an accident, but no hospital stay is recorded.”

“Karl wouldn’t let his son die. That’s how it started,” Prentiss said with conviction.

“Where are they?” Hotchner asked.

Garcia looked up the last known feeding logs, and Prentiss could actually see the blood drain out of her face.

“Jacksonville,” she said faintly. If Gabriel was back in a city where he’d killed before, that meant he was getting cocky, and hence, more dangerous than ever.

“I’ll call the airport from the cars, let’s go,” Hotchner said. “Garcia, keep trying to narrow down his location. We can’t afford to lose him.”

Prentiss felt a sick twist in her stomach as she picked up her go bag on the way out the door. Just behind her, she could hear Morgan’s breathing picking up, like he was anticipating a hunt. Of all the team, it would be her and Morgan that would have the best chance of tangling with a ghoul. Because if Gabriel managed to get his hands on any of the rest of the team, he could rip them apart as easily as the victims.

The sun, Prentiss well knew, would be below the horizon by the time the plane touched down in Florida.

\-----

Prentiss had often heard the expression “hit the ground running.” She hadn’t quite felt she’d lived it before now. Garcia had been furiously hitting every cell phone and traffic camera she could while the team was in the air, and by the time the plane had hit the tarmac, she’d had a location on a light-proofed trailer registered to Karl Witherspoon, Gabriel’s father.

The team had barely had a chance to breathe Florida’s air before they’d piled into SUVs, lights and sirens screaming as they raced to the one place they might be able to get ahead of someone they’d been trying to find for months.

Hotchner was the first one to the trailer when they found it, parked in an inconspicuous corner of a long-term parking garage. Prentiss and Morgan moved to cover him; their strength would be needed if the elder Witherspoon was violent. Bullets wouldn’t stop a vampire, but the whole team together could put enough shots into him to give them a chance for Morgan or Prentiss to overpower him, if necessary. With a nod at the team and the attending Jacksonville officers to be certain they were ready, Hotchner flung open the door, letting everyone else play their flashlights into the interior. A heavy curtain met their gaze, and Morgan moved it aside.

In the corner, blindfolded and bound, thin and pale, was Karl. His chest moved, showing he breathed, and his cheeks were wet with tears. A series of needles and tubes hung on the wall, tourniquets dangling next to them.

“Karl Witherspoon?” Prentiss asked softly.

He sighed deeply, relief and regret plain in that soft sound.

“It’s the stake for me?” he asked with resignation.

“Yes,” she said. Emily could feel Dave’s eyes burning into her back, but didn’t turn around.

“I confess. I fed my son.”

“I’m sorry,” Prentiss said, moving closer and pulling out reinforced cuffs to bind him. 

“Where’s Gabriel?” Hotchner asked. Karl’s head came up suddenly as Prentiss removed his blindfold.

“He’s here. He was just across the street-.”

Prentiss and Morgan turned, a sound of cursing and pounding feet clear to them as Gabriel heard his father’s betrayal. He’d been downwind of the trailer to keep himself from being scented.

“Shit! Hotch, he’s running,” Morgan said, turning to sprint for the SUV.

“Reid, stay with Karl,” Hotchner said, as the officers moved in to take custody. The rest of the team pelted after Morgan, piling inside and hanging on for dear life as they tracked the ghoul through the streets.

\--

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/jaune_chat/pic/00012tg8/)

Morgan skidded to a halt at the edge of the warehouse district after a long chase through the streets. The place was a veritable warren. There was no easy way to find the ghoul in here. He was going to escape.

“Hell with this,” Prentiss said flatly, and opened the door.

“I heard that,” Morgan said, piling out. 

“Agents.” Hotchner’s voice stopped them both in their tracks, and they turned reluctantly. “Bring him back alive, if possible.”

Morgan crouched to pull off his silver ankle cuff, and tossed it and his watch on the seat. He’d drunk sparingly today, against a need like this, but no cup of wolfsbane tea was going to stop a second generation lycanthrope on a full moon when he was out of contact with silver. Emily didn’t bother to wait the few minutes for Morgan’s muscles and bones to reform to their half-lupine configuration. He’d catch up to her easily once he was shifted, and time was of the essence.

She fled into the night, following faint scent and sound, chasing down two false trails before Morgan blazed past her, shaggy dark and focused as a pointer hound. Prentiss kept a running commentary to Hotchner and Rossi, giving them directions as they pressed deeper and deeper into the district. The ghoul was running high on his stolen strength, but Morgan and Prentiss had spent two decades learning how to use their abilities. The only thing Gabriel Witherspoon had going for him was desperation. And that, everyone knew, was dangerous.

Morgan doubled back after a block and then stabbed on clawed hand to the north, making a pinching motion with his fingers. _Come in from the north in a pincer maneuver,_ Emily read, and relayed to Hotchner and Rossi. They’d bracket Gabriel and hopefully drive him into her and Morgan’s clutches. There was a curse from up ahead as Gabriel tried to flee from Morgan, heading in another direction.

Emily leapt up, intending to take the roof road to intercept him, and saw Hotchner drop off Rossi just below her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she demanded softly through the radio, not really caring about protocol. Rossi knew better than to be out here alone.

“He’s avoiding you and Morgan both, and he’s fast as hell. You need a distraction,” Rossi said reasonably. “I trust you.”

“Prentiss, cover him,” Hotchner ordered. “I’m trying to get Jacksonville PD to surround the area.”

“You aren’t carrying explosive rounds or a flamethrower, so you _stay under me_ ,” Prentiss said firmly to Rossi, hissing once to get his attention to her physical location. She pointed ahead, to where she’d heard Gabriel last, and began to stalk the rooftops, staying right above Dave. There was a faint answering hiss in the dead-end alley ahead, and Rossi brought his gun up quickly, covering all the ambush points in quick succession.

Emily jumped to the next roof to get a better view and barely dodged as something pale rushed her. Gabriel hissed as he missed her, and swung around an exposed pipe to get more momentum as he launched himself at her again. Emily let him close and snatched for his arms. In the moment she had a grip on him, he screamed in defiance. Pale-skinned and slender, he still was far stronger than he should have been, and he strained hard against Emily’s hands. His eyes were half-animal, half-addict, a desperate craving in them that poke of endless hunger. He was hollow, furious at being thwarted, wanting nothing more than the freedom to feed.

But the worst part was the flash of intelligence, the split-second glimpse of his façade that let Emily see how he had been luring savvy but vulnerable donors to their doom so he could try to derive sustenance from them. When he had been calm, he must have seemed an ideal specimen.

Gabriel writhed in her grip, jerking her to the edge, trying to get to street level so he could run again. Morgan suddenly thudded onto the opposite roof, silvered and huge in the moonlight, a deadly growl coming from his throat. Dave was at the opposite end of the alley, his dangerous bait position no longer needed. He relayed Gabriel’s position to the Jackonville PD, and Hotchner was closing in. Soon they’d have a reinforced van to take Gabriel away. All they needed to do was to keep Gabriel under control for a few more minutes…

He twisted with frantic, blood-born strength, and was suddenly free of her grasp. As he fell, she saw the glint of metal at his waist from a revolver. He was armed. He’d come _armed!_ Gabriel landed lightly as Prentiss would have and came up holding the gun, searching for a target. Rossi had him in his sights, his gun coming up to fire. The police were still minutes away. Rossi was the weak link, Prentiss and Morgan might hesitate if he were down. Behind Dave lay freedom. Gabriel fired.

“Dave!” The echoing retort was so loud it hurt, bouncing and channeling off the brick buildings and metal dumpsters. Emily saw the bullet hit right in the center of his vest. That he fell didn’t give her pause—few could stand a direct hit. But she smelled blood; the bullet had penetrated. Her Source was down. Dave had been hurt.

Red misted her vision as she leapt down from her perch, the alley flying by in a blur as she used every bit of her inhuman speed. The predator within her, long held at bay by civilized need, slaughterhouse blood, and calm logic screamed in the fetid dark, her fangs extended for the kill.

_Death! Death!_

From a far off distance, she heard Morgan’s voice in her earpiece, which meant he’d forced himself to shift, “Rossi’s down!” Emily knew she was moving so quickly she was almost a blur, but time still slowed as Hotchner ordered, “Morgan, get Emily!”

She screamed again as Morgan jumped after her, desperate to get her hands on the ghoul who’d hurt Dave before she could be stopped. More bullets came roaring towards her, some hitting her, the pain a faint and distant thing as her body rejected the lead without a second thought.

The ghoul had just enough time to swear when Emily got her hands on him, shoving him down to the filthy alley floor, her hands on his neck, ready to choke him into submission before she drank him dry. For a few long seconds, she fed on his terror, watching his eyes bulge in pain and fear as his neck was being crushed by her hands.

Morgan suddenly grabbed her, his hands clawed in a partial transformation as he got ahold of her upper arms to haul her back, his fingers tightening painfully against her rage-born strength.

“He’s alive,” Morgan yelled, pulling her away. “Emily, he’s alive!”

“No!” she shrieked, seeing Witherspoon managing to blink under his own power, still living despite her brutal assault.

“Dave’s alive,” Morgan shouted right in her ear. She paused in her struggles, the red leaving her vision. “We have to get him to a hospital.”

Emily looked towards Dave. Now she could hear his tortured, gurgling breaths, see the dark crimson stains on his clothes, smell the heart’s blood pouring out of him.

“No!” It was denial that reverberated throughout the alley this time, and Morgan let her go. Behind her, she heard Morgan strike the ghoul hard enough to crack bone, and then the rattle of reinforced cuffs clicking around his wrists. Gabriel would be too busy trying to stay alive to threaten Hotchner.

Dave blinked at her as she reached him, his eyes swimming in pain, too weak to lift a hand or even speak. 

“Dave, Dave, don’t die on me, don’t die…” she chanted, scooping him up in her arms.

From a distance she heard Morgan’s voice over the tactical radio. “Come get him Hotch, we have to help Rossi-.”

“Go, take care of him, we have Witherspoon.”

Morgan was back at her side in an instant, reaching for Dave, not even flinching from her instinctive warning hiss.

“Where?” he asked.

“Marie’s,” she said.

“You’re faster. Get what you need ready; I’m right behind you.”

She let Morgan take him, Dave’s weight negligible in his arms. Then she all but flew over the rooftops. But this time not to deliver death, but life. 

The doorman at Marie’s heard her as she vaulted down from the rooftop opposite the blood bar, and could see her desperate expression as she sprinted closer. He made a subtle gesture, _around back_ , and she detoured to the back door. She trusted he’d tell someone to get it open before she broke it down.

Marie was there when the door opened under Emily’s fingertips, her hand at her throat.

“Help me,” she snapped. “Dave’s been shot.”

“Emily-.”

“ _Now!_ ”

Morgan was five seconds behind Emily, and Marie was back with the bags of human blood by the time he’d set Dave on the padded bench she’d found.

“Francis, IV stand, Luc, towels and water, go!” Marie commanded to two frightened-looking young men lurking in the doorway. Marie’s donors scattered to get the requested items, as Emily pulled Dave’s ruined vest away. Morgan’s clothes were covered in blood from where he’d carried him, and Dave’s face was dangerously pale.

Marie didn’t say a word as she carefully probed for a vein and started the flow of blood, hanging the bag on a stand that her half-stunned donor provided. Emily looked up briefly to see the name on the bags: David Rossi. He’d given Marie autologous donations of his own blood. 

“What is that?” Morgan asked.

“It’s his own blood,” Marie said shortly. “He left it with me.” Morgan blinked at that. Vampires couldn’t use bagged blood. The only reason to have made an autologous blood donation and leave it at a blood bar was for a scenario just like this. Why the hell had he done that?

“Marie, he needs more than that.” Emily bared her wrist and pulled a thin knife from her boot. Morgan felt a surge of fear as she put the blade to her skin, and she looked up at him.

“You can put me to the test in the morning,” she whispered. Below her, Dave’s breath rattled ominously in his lungs.

“Do it,” Morgan said. Next to him, Marie’s eyes were bright with unshed tears, her pain Emily’s own.

But Emily had already opened her vein. She hadn’t been asking for his permission or approval. Keeping the blade in to force the cut to remain open, she put her pulsing wound directly into the hole in Dave’s chest, letting her blood flow into him. Dave stiffened, his breathing deepening, and Morgan could see new flesh begin to grow around the gaping hole.

“Christ,” Morgan swore. He was used to see that happening to Emily, and even to himself to a lesser extent. Seeing Dave heal that fast was frightening. Marie worked around him with silent efficiency, pulling a needle into Emily’s arm and attaching it to the line coming from Dave’s blood bag. As the wound closed, Emily pulled away slightly and took the knife out. Her wrist healed over in a flash. She clasped her hand with Dave’s as his breathing strengthened, his skin healed completely over, and color returned to his face.

It was only when Morgan saw Dave clasp Emily’s hand in return that he dared to believe it had worked. They’d used the very crime they’d been trying to stop to save a life.

“Emily?” Dave’s voice was surprisingly strong for a man who’d been on the brink of death a few minutes ago.

“You’re going to be ok,” Emily said, touching the healed wound in his chest. “You’ll be fine.”

Dave stirred, and Emily helped him sit up to get a look at himself, letting him look at the blood going into him. Unobtrusively, Marie pulled Emily’s line from her arm and the bag, leaving Dave with just his own blood.

“This is going to hurt like a bitch on withdrawal, isn’t it?” Dave asked.

“Yes.” Emily hesitated. “I’m sorry, I-.”

“Hey,” he interrupted, reaching up to touch her face. “I’d rather be alive. Thank you.”

“I’ll be here when the symptoms come…” she said.

“He must sleep,” Marie said softly. “For a little while.”

Dave was already losing the battle against fatigue, and Emily let him go softly, brushing her fingers against his temples as his eyes closed. Morgan jerked his head up with an inquiring raised eyebrow, and Marie waved at them both to go. 

“Come on,” Morgan insisted, tugging on Emily’s elbow. They climbed up the ladder and out the trapdoor to the room, still dark at the midnight hour.

“You did the only thing you could do,” Morgan said, after a long silence. He sat down on the raised edge of the roof, carelessly balanced above a three-story drop. Out here, the streetlamps made his eyes shine green.

“I know.” Emily put her hands on the bricks, willing strength into her heart. “God.” It was less a curse and more a plea.

“What?” Morgan asked.

“What Dave said. God, he said he’d ‘rather be alive.’”

“So?”

“Dave’s not signed up for vampirism.” A brick crumbled under her hands, and Emily watched the pieces fall through her fingers. 

Morgan was at a loss for words, not sure if he should offer sympathy or reassurance.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said quietly, and shook her head. “It wouldn’t matter even if he had been; he’s beyond the age to survive an injection.” Her breath was almost like a sob, but soft. Morgan doubted a human could have heard it. He reached out to her and she finally relaxed, letting him fold her into a reassuring embrace.

“Hey,” he said. “I know you two have been keeping things quiet, but he’s your Source-.”

“Morgan, you know damn well that doesn’t mean an automatic roll in the hay-.”

“And I have a nose.”

Emily blushed.

“This is fine. You’re both doing fine.” He hugged her hard. “And hell, if I hadn’t had to go after you, I might have gone wolfman on the ghoul, so I think things worked out.”

Emily wasn’t crying, but she could feel the tightness in her chest. God. Why had she let everything get so far under her skin?

“You wouldn’t have gone wolfman,” she insisted.

“My ass,” Morgan said darkly. “We’re both predators under the skin. And so’s Rossi, Hotch, Reid, J.J., even Garcia in her way. Top of the food chain, we take down other predators. Those instincts help us. I like to believe I’m using them for good.”

Emily clasped a hand over her wrist, the one she’d ripped open to save Dave. “Ok.” She was silent for a long moment. “Ok.”

They held onto each other until the dawn sent Emily back inside. 

\------

Hotchner called Morgan just after sunrise.

“We have Witherspoon in custody, and just gone done processing him. He’s being treated, but I doubt he’ll survive the detox. He’s been dosing himself for close to a year.”

“Good,” Morgan said shortly.

“I’m glad we caught him too,” Hotchner said, officially covering them in case anyone heard. That was also the reason he hadn’t asked about Rossi.

“Rossi’s fine. It wasn’t as bad as we thought,” Morgan said.

“I’m glad to hear that.” And he was; Morgan could hear the relief in his voice. Luckily he couldn’t hear Rossi’s muffled cries of pain as he body reluctantly let go of Prentiss’ blood. She was down there now, curled around him, using her cool body to ease his fever. The only thing that mattered to Morgan (and to Hotchner too, he was no fool) was that they wanted each other there. That despite Prentiss’ fears, Rossi had asked for her as soon as he woke. He mentally shook his head. That was for them to sort out; it wasn’t any of his business.

“We’ll meet you back at Quantico tomorrow.”

“See you then.”

\-----

When the dawn sent Emily back inside, Dave started to cry out in his sleep. His heart raced and his breath burned in his lungs; the after-effects of vampire blood still with him, the blankets shredded in his grip. Dave was usually strong, but not that strong. Emily curled around him, her cool flesh easing his fever, her strength curtailing his frantic, unconscious outbursts. 

Unlike Gabriel, Dave’s brush with vampiric abilities would last hours, not days. His should-have-been mortal wounds had used up most of Emily’s blood in his system. The only problem was… Only problem…

Emily clung to him, not known what she was going to see when he opened his eyes. She feared seeing the kind of desperate, longing hunger she’d seen in Gabriel. Karl hadn’t been able to stand the thought of losing his son, nor to see him in pain. What had started out as lifesaving was going to end up as gruesome death for both.

Could she do as Karl had done last night, and bravely face the consequences? Could she step into the light? Could she have the courage to do it now, before she turned Dave into a monster?

She breathed harshly into Dave’s shoulder. Gabriel had been a young man, impetuous, rash, and undisciplined. Marie had done this before, and had it worked… But at the loss of her son’s respect. She and Laurent hadn’t spoken since, but he’d survived and lived normally. Laurent had been strong. Dave was surely stronger.

Emily could hear Dave’s heart slowing as the last of her blood worked itself out of his system. She, too, was strong. Strong enough to choose this life. Weak enough to fail its necessities and grab for life beyond her own years. If her fears came true, she would have a long time to live with them. A very long time.

Dave was bruised-looking, pale, and basically looked and probably felt like he’d been dragged through hell face-down. Emily didn’t care. She maintained her position, not minding the sad excuse for a bed. Marie had come in with blood for her three times during his ordeal; Emily had sucked it down indifferently, her attention focused on Dave. When he stirred sometime around noon, she was there for him.

Dave stirred and opened his eyes. Relief was there, and confusion. He caught sight of her. Smiled right at her. Her heart swelled to burst in her chest, and she kissed him, feeling his living heat in her mouth. 

“Ow,” he said. Dave brought a hand up to rub at his head, and then easily slid it over to tangle in Emily’s hair. “Hey. Thank you.”

Emily let out a breath of relief she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “You almost…” She slid her hand down to where the bullet had hit him, feeling the clean, shiny scar under her fingers.

“Still me, last time I checked,” Dave said lightly.

“I know.” Her hand roamed, wanting to feel that he was still there, still real and warm under her touch.

“Emily, I’m all right.”

“You look like hell,” she said tartly.

“The last few hours have been kind of intense, but I’ve been on worse benders.”

Emily snorted. “My ass.”

“I don’t know what was worse,” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “Either my second wedding reception, my first bachelor party, or my third divorce pity party.”

“Which one involved tequila?”

“Bachelor party.”

“Then that one.”

Dave chuckled weakly and laid back down, his hand trailing down her ribs. When his fingers found the holes in her shirt where the ghoul had shot her, he stopped.

“Marie said you took a half-dozen bullets for me.”

Emily wondered when he’d learned that. She must have passed out at some point during the long morning.

“I was going to kill Witherspoon for touching you,” Emily said flatly. 

“What stopped you?”

“Morgan.”

Dave swallowed hard.

“And you. You were still alive,” Emily added.

“Christ, Emily, I’m sorry.”

“For getting shot?”

“Yeah.”

“Dave, why did Marie have your blood?” she asked, touching the inside of her elbow, where the IV needle had been.

“Something she said to me. She called me once, after she’d read my books. She said you’d get very protective and a little crazy if I ever went down. I wanted to give us both a chance that I wouldn’t. I figured if you trusted her, I could too.”

She pulled him up with irresistible strength and held him close, drinking in his living warmth, his breath, his scent, everything that told her he was alive. “I thought I lost you.”

Dave put a hand on the back of her head, and kissed her on the cheek. She moved to meet him, restrained and wishing she didn’t have to be.

“Go ahead,” he said gently, reaching up to brush her lips with his fingers. “You need to.”

She didn’t pull away, but she knew Dave could feel her tense under his hands. “You just got shot. You must have replaced four pints of blood and I just bled into you to save your life.”

“Hey, I know what I’m doing. I feel better after you feed.”

“Dave…”

“I’ve been your Source for four years, Emily. I’ll be fine.”

“Dave-.”

“I want you to.” The last was said with soft, urgent conviction, and Emily felt her protests evaporate. Her bite was soft, her draining infinitely slow.

Dave thought he’d never felt anything that good before.

\-----

“Emily, Dave,” Marie’s voice twined into Emily’s half-doze, forcing her awake again. “It is time.”

Emily opened her eyes slowly, smelling fresh slaughterhouse blood. A mug next to her still steamed, and she sucked it down to quench the ache in her belly. 

“You’re up.” Next to her, Dave was lounging on a chair, dressed, clean, looking like nothing at all had happened in the past twelve hours.

He could see her guilty expression and stopped her before she started. “Hey, you did the only thing you could, for both of us.” He put gentle pressure on her chin, and she lifted herself up to kiss him. “I knew what I was doing when I left my blood here. If you think anyone on our team is going to say anything, then you don’t know us at all. And you’re a better profiler than that.”

“If anything had gone wrong…” Emily trailed off.

“You would have stopped me before anything did,” Dave said confidently. “I love you, nothing else matters.”

“Karl Witherspoon loved his son.”

“But he didn’t respect him enough to let him go when he should have. We’ve seen that kind of behavior before.”

Emily nodded; she could name a dozen cases where overprotective parents had contributed to their child’s downfall. This was different. She looked over at Marie, who smiled at her knowingly. She’d been right all along. Dave was all right. Dave loved her. She touched him, smiling, and leaned up to pull him into a hard a hug as he could stand.

“I’ll love you for the rest of my life,” she said into his warmth. 

He gripped her dark hair as she pulled back, a kind of crazy calm suffusing her. It would be all right. She could weather this, she could love here and now and not force herself to be miserable right now just because she might be unhappy twenty or thirty years into the future.

“I’ll call Hotch. I need to let him know we’ll be coming home together,” Dave said.

She slid her hand into his, feeling the thin bracelet locked around his wrist, and smiled.


End file.
